Carissa vs. The Centipede
(a story that I only wish was a work of fiction)

Something crawling toward me. I hear screams and profanities. I realize they are coming out of my mouth. I am standing in the middle of the room jumping up and down. Still screaming. Must stop. The centipede has slithered under my crumpled blanket. I am shaking. I am bigger than this insect. I can conquer! Where the hell is that bugspray? DEET! I need large quantities of DEET. Are centipedes poisonous? Think! Think! I rack my brain and come up blank. All I can think is: big, nasty bug in the place I am supposed to sleep. Slowly I lift the bedspread and start shooting DEET like the American Army bombing Baghdad. Shock and Awe. The centipede is less impressed than Saddam and scurries under the matress. Something touches my arm and I jump. Almost scream but contain myself at the last second. It's the towel hanging on the wall. Sigh of relief. Still shaking though. Want to sleep. I paid for this room! Contemplate sitting in the lobby all night but I need sleep. How can I sleep with a centipede that is most likely seeking revenge. Still can't decide if they are poisonous. Try to lift the mattress but it's too heavy. Obviously filled with rocks. Or a lot of centipedes. My skin is crawling at the thought. Mosquito bites itch like crazy. Where is the evil centipede? It's like a game of hide and seek. I'm losing. I kick the mattress a few times. Nothing. It will not be scared out of hiding. I will build a barricade of DEET around my mattress. Nothing will make it through alive. Will I? This stuff is toxic. Take shallow breaths. Where is that bugger? I imagine every other insect scurrying away from my personal gas chamber. Now I will sleep in my DEET fortress. Goodnight centipede, goodnight.